“Guildra is, therefore, a manifestation of everything the guilds already stand for: law, order, creation, innovation, cooperation, peace, and rankings based not upon our ambitions but upon our qualifications. That is who and what we deserve as our Patron,” she asserted, watching the sea of faces staring at her . . . and now staring past her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, but Rexei strove to continue. “We are not going to fall into lawlessness, because we have the Guild System in our blood and in our bones supporting these things, the ways and means of cooperation and organization.
“We don’t have to invent any new concept to gain a true Patron of this land. Let our Patron be the Patron of the Guilds, and let Guildra be the Goddess of a new land. Let Mekhana dissolve along with its False God, and let Guildara rise and take its rightful place in the world. Guildara, which means the Land of the Guilds, overseen and guarded by Guildra, the Goddess of Guilds,” she finished, spreading her hands in the hopes of emphasizing her words enough to recapture her audience’s attention. “Because this is what we are and have always been, even when crushed under the will of the False God, Mekha.”
It didn’t work. They continued to stare past her shoulders, though all she could sense magically was a cool, clean feeling, like soaking hot, sore feet in a shaded, spring-fed pool in the summertime—refreshing not shocking. But there wasn’t supposed to be anyone behind her. Uneasy, Rexei turned and peered over her shoulder as well.
EIGHT
A woman, strangely familiar, had appeared between her and the stone wall, though she was no woman that Rexei could recall seeing before this moment. Rexei took in her light complexion, her long dark brown curls that gleamed like the richest silk framing the rectangular face of a native Mekhanan, and wondered who she was. She even wore a knitted overgown similar in shape to Grenfallow’s, save that this one came in every natural shade of wool imaginable. From the creamiest white to the reddest auburn to the blackest of fleeces, it had been embroidered with a repeating motif.
That motif was the one which Rexei herself had created and described: a gear-toothed wheel with the spokes formed from the crossed shafts of a hammer, a scythe, and a narrow-tufted brush, one sized for either painting or writing. Machinery gears, farming tools, crafting tools, designing tools, all of those things decorated her gown . . . or rather, Her gown, for Her eyes gleamed with a light that made it impossible to say what hue those irises were; like Her aura, Her eyes shimmered with the cool promise of water on a hot summer’s day.
She looked only somewhat like Rexei had imagined Her, but it was clear who She was.
“You have an immense strength to your faith, Rexei,” Guildra stated in a soft, pleasant voice not much louder than a murmur.
A quick glance behind at the crowd showed Rexei how the murmur echoed through the great meeting hall, reaching every ear and widening every eye. Rexei faced Her again, speechless at what was happening.
“Your words in expressing it are well-spoken. You have convinced many here that I should exist, enough for Me to briefly manifest. I am . . . grateful . . . for My birth, and I will be honored to guide and defend you all . . . but you will have a long road ahead before you can achieve your goals of banding together as a new form of kingdom . . . and four more years before I can be Named and so take My place among My Brethren. Should you succeed,” Guildra added in soft, sober warning. “Only the past is immutable; the future must be seized and shaped. What you believe, so shall I be.” She smiled. “I would prefer to be a Goddess of Peace and Prosperity, as well as your Patron of Guilds.”
That radiant gaze shifted to the others. Released, Rexei discovered she had forgotten how to breathe while the Goddess, her Goddess, had spoken to her. Inhaling slowly, deeply, she tried not to shake too hard. No Mekhanan cared to have any deity’s attention, particularly a mage . . . but at the same time, Rexei believed with all her heart that this deity was what they needed and wanted, and thus She could not ever possibly bring them harm.
For several seconds as She regarded the crowd, Guildra said nothing more, until Her gaze came back to Rexei’s face. Lifting Her hand, She placed it on Rexei’s brow. It felt warm and alive, but not entirely solid, leaving a hint of cool waterfall in the back of the young woman’s mind.
“Your task is well begun, Rexei. I place My blessing upon you,” She stated. Sparks of light trickled down from Her touch, solidifying around Rexei’s neck as a heavy weight. “Your belief, first and foremost, has created Me, so I name you the incipient Guild Master of My Holy Guild. Petition them for its entry, Guild Master. I shall return when your collective faith in Me as a new nation has grown substantially.”
Pinpoints of light shimmered through Her form, first as faint as starlight, then growing in brilliance until they flared and faded, leaving nothing behind. Nothing but that heavy weight on Rexei’s chest. Glancing down, Rexei blinked at the new medallion on her chest. Not the ribbon-strung one that marked her as a Master Actor, which was roughly the length of her thumb in diameter. No, this one had been strung on sturdy gold links. It was a flat oval as long as her palm and stamped with an engraved image she had never dared to carve so large.
Slowly, Rexei turned first to face the other men and women seated at the Consulate bench, then to face the breathlessly curious crowds on the pews and benches of the hall. She held herself still, trying not to tremble, and let them look long and hard at the tool-spoked wheel symbolizing her faith in the guilds the others represented and the Goddess she had envisioned for them.
It was all she could do not to faint. From journeyman to Guild Master in less than a quarter hour . . . Giving up, Rexei sagged onto the bench next to Grenfallow . . . and a storm of conversation erupted. It seemed that everyone in the meeting hall just had to comment, discuss, and argue over what had happened. Rexei let it wash over her while she struggled with the idea, the concept, the fact that she was now responsible for the spirituality of her nation.
Everyone knew where the Gods came from: They literally came from the belief and faith of Their people. Culture dictated Their focus; for example, if a culture believed that horses were the most important things in the people’s daily lives, they would have a Horse God or Goddess. Equally important, the more people worshipped that God or Goddess, the more who believed in Them, the more their collective willpower fed that deity, permitting Them to grow strong and powerful.
The most often cited examples were the Patron of Fortuna, the Threefold God of Fate, believed by everyone to be the oldest and most powerful deity of all, and the second-most powerful deity in the world, Menda, Goddess of Mendhi and Patron of Writing. It was said They could even act well outside Their normal homelands because of this pervasive, worldwide belief in Them, though such miracles and manifestations were still exceptionally rare.
The terrible corollary to this belief-equals-power had been the bane of Mekhana for far too long, for fear could also keep a God in power. Sitting there, trembling from the draining effects of manifesting an actual deity, Rexei felt ill. If the priesthood in that temple worshipped whatever great demon they summoned . . . that demon could become a dark and vicious God—one with a small following, but even a small amount of belief could wreak miracles, regardless of whether they were malicious or divine. With that thought preying on her mind, she swallowed against the nausea raised by the possibility and swallowed again from nerves while people shouted questions and demands and argued near the top of their lungs.